


A Shot at Luck (or Love)

by nightbaron079



Category: Hey! Say! JUMP
Genre: F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-08 23:42:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1960680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightbaron079/pseuds/nightbaron079
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A head injury is certainly a (painfully) weird way of starting a conversation, but hey, it’s a shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Shot at Luck (or Love)

**Author's Note:**

> Made as a prequel to my fic After School, but they can be read separately.

It was a lucky shot. The luckiest he would probably have in his life.

Of course, being himself, he ruined it.

It was a casual game with other guys from different departments at university, but with his energy and the rate he was going, one would think he was playing for the World Cup. Everyone was playing pretty well, but his voice stood over the rest as he shouted his lungs out to “pass the ball to him”. Probably fed up with him, one of his teammates finally did.

It should have been a beautiful goal. No one was guarding him, and the goalkeeper was by some miracle not even paying attention to the right player. The time was almost up so every goal counted. Trusting his leg power, he took his shot and sent the ball flying.

He should have trusted his aim first.

All the guys watched the arc that the ball made in the air as it sailed above everyone’s heads… past the goalkeeper’s hands, over the net, and towards the crowd of people sitting on the hill beside the river bank they were all playing in. It narrowly missed a group of kids watching their game and stopped with a resounding thump as it hit the head of a girl with a sketchbook in her hands.

Everyone in the vicinity consecutively winced and glared at him.

“Oi Yabu, go get the ball and apologize,” his teammate told him. Yabu dearly wanted to blame him for passing the ball to _him_ in the first place (even if he was yelling at everyone to do so for the whole game) but held back, trying to find another argument to save himself from the embarrassing encounter.

“B-but—”

“No arguing. It’s your fault anyway,” their team’s goalkeeper scolded him. “Now go get the ball. And stop pulling that wounded puppy look, it won’t work.”

 

 

There was no point in even fighting. Jogging up to where the ball landed after bouncing off the girl’s head, he warily made his way towards her armed with an ice pack and a contrite apology.

“Hey. Um. S-sorry for hitting you on the head,” he murmured nervously. The girl was hunched over a large sketchbook, her hand quickly gliding across the paper as he stood awkwardly over her with the ice pack in his hand dripping in shame on the grass beside her feet.

“You’re blocking my light. And my view,” she whispered quietly.

“Uh. What?” he asked, not sure if he heard her correctly. He was expecting to be yelled at and asked for enough money to pay for a trip to the hospital, at the very least. And a ball to the head must have hurt a lot. He should know; he hurts himself a lot from practice as it is.

“You’re kind of blocking my view? I was trying to draw,” she said, looking up to meet his confused gaze. He opened his mouth but the only sound that came out was this surprised little mumble of sounds that made no sense. She raised her eyebrows at him before sighing and dropping her gaze, peering behind his legs to look at whatever view his skinny frame was blocking.

He should probably not be thinking about how gorgeous her eyes were behind her huge glasses, but his attention span wasn’t infamously short for nothing.

“Are you sure you don’t have a concussion? Because you should be probably screaming at me for giving you a concussion and/or possible brain damage by now,” he said hesitantly. This was not the conversation he was expecting.

“I think I won’t be having this conversation with you if I already have brain damage. Unless talking to you proves to be a symptom of brain damage,” she answered absently, her brow furrowing over her drawing. She looked up at him and huffed out loudly. “And I would really appreciate it if you made my life easier and not stand right in front of me when I’m trying to draw.”

He hurriedly sidestepped then looked over his shoulder at the field. The game went on without him. Not like he was any significant loss to anyone; in fact, his team was just sinking its first goal as he looked on. Shaking out the dripping ice pack, he shifted from one foot to another. “Can I sit down?” he asked gingerly.

“It’s a free country,” she mumbled in reply, distracted as she hunched over the huge sketchbook that was about bigger than the size of her whole torso. Since that was the only approval he’ll probably get, he folded his limbs and sat down on the grass next to her, watching the remnants of the soccer game. His team won; he didn’t even have to get the ball, they always had around three spare ones around anyway. He sighed, moodily pulling up the grass by his feet.

“What did the grass ever do to you?” the girl beside him suddenly asked. He looked up, surprised; he didn’t even knew she noticed.

‘Oh, sorry. Nervous habit, I guess?” he said.

“Why are you even nervous? Am I that scary?” she asked in a tone that was was meant to be light. There was something behind it, though, that suggested a heaviness Yabu didn’t understand.

_No, you_ _’re beautiful_ is what Yabu would have said if this were a shoujo manga or an actual romantic movie, but he was living in reality and was too much of a coward to actually confess to a girl he just met (by hitting her head with a soccer ball, no less). So he leaned back and retrieved the ball that had landed behind her and hugged it to his chest.

“Nah. You’re pretty cool actually, considering I just hit you on the head with this thing,” he said, gesturing to the ball he was hugging.

She casted him an amused glance. “So that was you,” she said. “I hope it wasn’t on purpose, because there are a lot more ways to get a girl’s attention than to give her brain damage.”

“I didn’t mean to hit on you—I mean, hit you, I promise!” he said, mentally kicking himself on the head afterwards. She bit her lip and looked down, but the slight shaking of her shoulders looked like she was trying hard not to laugh out loud.

“Okay,” she said, absently rubbing her cheek with her hand. A black smudge was left on her cheek, probably from all the graphite she was using while sketching. Without conscious thought, he found himself stretching the damp ice pack to her cheek. She flinched back from the cold and the sudden contact, her black-framed glasses slipping down her nose from the sudden movement.

“COLD—w-what was that for?!” she asked indignantly, rubbing at her cheek with the sleeve of her oversized hoodie. He stared at horror at his hand, still holding the ice pack aloft. Why are his body parts moving without his permission?!

“I’m sorry! Your cheek—It’s. Um. Smudge,” he said in a lame attempt to explain. Blinking, she looked at her graphite-stained hand.

“Oh. Um. Thanks.”

They looked at each other for a moment before laughing awkwardly. Yabu noticed how her cheeks reddened when she laughed and how her hair fell in soft cascades down her back like a shampoo commercial, having long escaped the bun that held it back. Then she smiled, truly _smiled_ , at him, and he felt a funny thing happening in his chest. Like… like he just blocked a soccer ball from entering the goal with his ribs—a bit painful, but totally worth it in the end.

Tentatively he stretched out his hand to gently place the ice pack over her head.

“Ow,” she said in surprise, reaching up to touch the ice pack before he could completely let go of it. The tips of their fingers met briefly, and he hurriedly pulled his hand back.

“I brought it for your head,” he said, by way of explanation.

“Oh,” she said, still holding the ice pack like she wasn’t sure why it was there. She shifted its position and winced. “Thanks.”

“I’m really sorry,” he said sincerely. She had gone back to her drawing but she nodded to her paper, which must be her way of saying it was no big deal. Relieved, he went back to staring off into the now emptying makeshift soccer field. He was therefore surprised when he felt a gentle pat on the top of his head. It turned into slow, reassuring strokes, ruffling his hair (that was thankfully not sweaty) once in a while, as the girl beside him almost absentmindedly petted him.

“Okay,” she whispered.

 

 

“Dude, the last time I saw a girl do that to a guy in a drama _she had a baby,_ and you didn’t even ask her _name?_ Granted, in the drama the girl was like fourteen and there was a cozy treehouse on hand and they like each other already—”

“Hikaru, do you really have to talk about your favorite dramas? And watch your language,” Inoo admonished.

“Shut up, it was _your_ copy!” Hikaru cried out, pointing his chopsticks at Inoo for emphasis. The three of them were in the cafeteria of their university, and Yabu was already beginning to regret even telling them about the girl he met. Soon enough, the conversation returned to focus on him and how much of a loser he is, if he hasn’t realized it yet.

“Don’t you remember anything helpful? Like a mole or something?” Hikaru asked.

“She wore glasses. And, uh, I think she was wearing a hoodie from our university,” he said.

“So does about half the female population of this school. Anything else?” Inoo said.

“She had pretty eyes,” Yabu mumbled. Hikaru rolled his eyes as Inoo laughed.

Yabu glared at them. “What?” he said grumpily.

“Are you sure it wasn’t you who got hit on the head, Yabu-kun?” Inoo asked in an amused tone.

“Yeah, maybe it was just an Inception kind of dream? Because this totally sounds like either that or a shoujo manga,” Hikaru said.

“Some friends you are; why won’t you believe me?” Yabu said in exasperation, stabbing at the tonkatsu on his plate moodily with his chopsticks.

“We do believe you! It’s just… it sounds so…” Inoo said, trailing off.

“Unbelievable,” Hikaru finished for him. Yabu glared at him, but he only raised an eyebrow.

“Not everyone gets their shoujo manga-like encounters, Kouchan,” he said, finishing off his meal and standing up, lugging a huge plastic case that held his paintings.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go back to reality. And I have a deadline to meet,” Hikaru said, rushing off to his next class with a hasty wave and a pat on Yabu’s shoulder. The latter sighed and face planted on the book he had open next to his tray.

“What are you doing?” Inoo said, looking at his watch.

“Mentally breaking down,” Yabu answered, too tired from pulling an all-nighter to finish a paper due today and thinking about the girl from the riverside hill soccer match of fate (as he has began calling her in his head) to snap at the amused tone in Inoo’s voice. Inoo always sounded like everyone’s affairs was highly entertaining to him anyways.

“Aren’t you going to be late, though?” Inoo now asked Yabu, nodding towards the journals that he had yet to finish reading. He started, violently jerking his head up as he glanced at the clock.

“Oh no. I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m gonna be so screwed,” Yabu said, the words quickly streaming from his mouth as he scarfed down the remaining food on his plate and began throwing medical journals into his bag.

Inoo began double-checking the blueprints he had to pass later on today; “If you’re dead you really don’t need to eat. And I’ve never seen a zombie talk so much—okay, okay,” he said, catching Yabu’s death glare.

“Gochisou-sama deshita,” Yabu hurriedly said. He left the cafeteria with Inoo, separating when they reach Inoo’s building.

“Don’t stress yourself over that girl, Yabu-kun,” Inoo said, hoisting his bag up his shoulder.

“What do you mean?” Yabu asked confusedly.

Inoo smiled. “If it’s a fated encounter, you’ll meet again,” he said, giving Yabu’s shoulder a pat before turning to go inside.

Yabu went to class with his friends’ words ringing in his ears.

_Let_ _’s see what happens then._

 

 

_Before you call one more freaking time, I have not been abducted by aliens or anything as drastic. I_ _’m in a meeting with group mates for some really important project. Like, sealing my awesome academic fate-important. Wait at that bench with Inoo, and if you leave without me I swear our friendship is over. Go flirt with some cute college girls if you’re that bored. Or you can flirt with Inoo-chan, he said you look cute when you smile and your eyes disappear. He’s weird. Why would anyone think you’re cute? Or maybe you’ll get a real girlfriend and stop pining after your imaginary destiny._

_AND STOP CALLING ME BEFORE I FORGET AN IDEA AGAIN. DO NOT DISTURB!!!!!_

“Hikaru is mean,” Yabu declared with a pout. “Can I resign being his friend?”

“You can’t resign from friendship, you poophead,” Inoo said with a laugh, leaning back on the bench. “And he’s probably just really stressed, he hasn’t had a lot of sleep lately. You know how he is.”

“And she’s not imaginary!” Yabu added, kicking at a stray rock as he continued his circuit back and forth in front of the bench Inoo was sitting on.

“Will you sit down? You’re giving me a headache,” Inoo complained good-naturedly. Yabu all but stomped towards the bench and sat down, putting his head on Inoo’s shoulder. Inoo laughed and adjusted on his seat, making it more comfortable for Yabu to lean on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry Yabu-kun, but you’re not my type,” Inoo said, patting Yabu on the head.

“Hikaru said to flirt with you because you think I’m cute,” Yabu said. Inoo made a strangled, choking sound.

“Hikaru-kun said that?” he said, a hint of sadness in the blink of his eyelashes and the curve of his voice. Yabu handed Inoo his phone and let his friend read Hikaru’s message.

“He sure writes long mails,” Inoo commented quietly. They were waiting for Hikaru in front of his building so they could eat dinner together. Inoo was treating them to an eat-all-you-can buffet place that just opened and they’ve been meaning to go to, because he was smart and got some important award for a housing plan he made (that his professor submitted for him because typical Inoo was never out for extracurricular attention).

“For someone who’s apparently busy, he sure took time writing this,” Yabu grumbled, putting his phone back in his pocket after Inoo handed it over.

“You did call him about fifteen times.”

“…he wasn’t replying!”

“What are you, his girlfriend?”

“He doesn’t have one! And aren’t you even going to comment about him calling you weird?”

“But you are cute when you smile. You look like a cat.”

“…Aren’t you allergic to cats?”

“Maybe that explains it.”

“Hey!”

Inoo laughed. “Why don’t you go say hello to the first pretty girl that you see?” he said to distract Yabu. “Hikaru does give good advice, though it’s usually hidden under five layers of snark and sarcasm.”

“Why won’t you guys believe me? I told you I didn’t make that girl up!” he said exasperatedly.

“Sure you didn’t.”

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaargh.” Yabu was about to retaliate when he spied Hikaru exiting the building. He stood up and waved, about to call out to him when he felt the words die down in his throat.

_It was her._

She was walking next to Hikaru, her head tilted up to meet his gaze as they appeared to be in deep discussion. She was wearing the same glasses and carrying the same sketchbook in her arms. She had her hair down and she was wearing the university hoodie over a dress today instead of shorts and a T-shirt from the day he met her.

But it was Her. Like, her with a capital H _Her._

“Yabu? You okay?” Inoo asked, standing up next to Yabu. He saw Hikaru approaching and waved, and Yabu watched in panic as Hikaru waved goodbye to his group mates including the mystery girl.

“Sorry for making you wait! The meeting took us longer than I expected!” Hikaru said, jogging up to them. He wagged a finger at Yabu’s direction. “And _you_ should be ashamed of yourself. How many times did you call me during the meeting? So embarrassing—”

“Yaotome-san!” a voice behind Hikaru said. He looked behind him to reveal the girl he was talking to earlier. The girl Yabu met.

She was as pretty as he remembered her.

“Yaotome-san, you forgot your phone,” she now said, holding up the mobile with the recognizable bass guitar keychain. “I was worried you’d forget it after putting it in the trash can; all those calls—”  
“Oh gosh, thanks Arihara-chan!” Hikaru said, shooting a glare at Yabu’s direction (that was conveniently ignored). Yabu had unconsciously moved to stand behind Inoo and found something extremely interesting with his shoelaces. Inoo noticed and nodded to the girl standing next to Hikaru, giving her a friendly smile.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” he said. Hikaru rolled his eyes and gave Inoo his _stop flirting with everything that moves_ look but didn’t say anything, smiling and gently urging her forward.

“Everyone, this is Arihara Mizuki-chan. Arihara-chan, this is Inoo Kei and Yabu Kota,” Hikaru said with a flourish. She bowed to both of them, peeking behind Inoo to smile at Yabu as well.

“Hi. Nice to finally meet you,” she said brightly.

“H-hello,” Yabu said, his face reddening as he tried to hunch down and hide further behind Inoo. Inoo laughed softly while Hikaru just looked confused. She smiled, then turned to Hikaru.

“I just came to return your phone, I should go; my parents are expecting me in the shop,” Mizuki said.

“If you want, we could walk you there? It’s on our way,” Hikaru offered. Yabu’s head shot up in attention as Mizuki smiled and shook her head.

“It’s okay, I don’t want to be a bother to all of you. It was nice meeting you,” she said to both Yabu and Inoo, bowing towards them and giving them a little wave.

Yabu waited before she was well out of earshot before sitting back down on the bench, staring out into space while Hikaru turned to Inoo in confusion.

“What was that all about?” Hikaru demanded, but Yabu was already pulling at his arm before Inoo had the chance to answer.

“ _Why_ didn’t you tell me you knew her?!” Yabu said, his voice rising a few octaves and looking highly distressed.

“Who the hell are you talking about?” Hikaru asked, pulling his arm from Yabu’s grasp and staring at him.

“I think he’s referring to Arihara-san,” Inoo said, picking up his bag from beside Yabu.

“What about her?” Hikaru said.

“She’s the girl I met by the riverbank!” Yabu said.

“What?! Tell me you’re joking. Or are you just saying this because you have the hots for my cute classmate of three years?”

“Why would I do that?!” Yabu said, sounding injured.

“Wait, that really was her?” Inoo said, a smile lifting a corner of his lip into half a grin.

“Oh, sorry about that lover boy—if you had enough sense _to ask for her name,_ then this would have been a whole lot easier,” Hikaru said defensively.

“Small world,” Inoo said, still sounding like everything happening in Yabu’s life was a very interesting story.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Yabu said through gritted teeth.

“Yep.”

“Should I give you her number? Or her mail address? Or should we got eat okonomiyaki at her parents’ shop? Or how about—”

“Hikaru?” Yabu said, his face bright red.

“Yeah?”  


“Shut it.”

 

 

“Uh,” Yabu said nervously. “What are we doing here?”

“Sitting,” Inoo answered nonchalantly. “And hopefully ordering soon.”

“Chill dude, it’s an okonomiyaki shop, not a five-star restaurant,” Hikaru said, trying to be helpful as he looked around for a waitress.

“It’s because we’re in an okonomiyaki shop that I’m like this,” he said, giving his friends the stinkiest stink-eye he could manage. Both didn’t notice though; Inoo was pointedly perusing the menu and Hikaru was waving over a girl that look frighteningly familiar.

“Ah, Yaotome-san!” a voice Yabu would recognize anywhere said behind them. He hunched his face down his collar as Mizuki approached them. Her hair was in a bun and she was wearing a frilly apron and the brightest of smiles and _god_ she was so cute it could give him heartburn (the pleasant kind, like the warmth was there to stay).

“Hello Arihara-chan~ we came as promised!” Hikaru said brightly. She stood beside their table and smiled at everyone.

“Everyone’s here, it seems,” she said. “Hello, Inoo-san, Yabu-kun.”

“Hi,” Yabu mumbled, while Inoo and Hikaru raised their eyebrows at each other at the different suffix attached to Yabu’s name.

“What would you guys like to order?” she asked brightly, pen posed over a notepad.

“What would you recommend?” Inoo asked. As she chattered on about the different okonomiyaki variants they offered with Inoo, Yabu took the chance to stare at Mizuki as long as he wished. A strand of hair had come out of her messy bun, and she unconsciously tucked it behind her ear as she laughed at something Hikaru had said.

Her hand. Her beautifully long artist fingers, clicking the pen open and close with the regularity of habit.

Her voice, calling his name.

“Yabu-kun?”

It sounds so real.

“Yabu-kun?”

It was real.

He blinked. “What?” he said. The other three were staring at him like he was an idiot. Which he probably was.

“Whatever Mizuki-chan recommends,” he said. She started and blushed, scribbling furiously for a moment before turning her back and leaving without another word.

Inoo chuckled under his breath. “Good job, Kouchan,” he said.

Yabu tore his gaze from Mizuki’s rapidly retreating back and willed his neck to turn to look at Inoo. “What did I do?” he said, confused.

“’Mizuki-chan’?” Hikaru prompted. Yabu’s mouth dropped open.

“Wait, _what_? I said that out loud? I called her by her first name? Noooooooooooo,” he said, groaning and dropping his face over his crossed arms on the table.

Inoo and Hikaru laughed, the latter patting him on the back. “You’ll get over it. And hey, she calls you with ‘-kun’; I’ve been in the same classes she had for three years and she still calls me ‘Yaotome-san’,” he said.

Yabu lifted his head from the safety of his crossed arms, peeking at Hikaru. “Really?” he said, voice filling with hope.

“You should be in love all the time, it looks cute on you,” Inoo quipped. Yabu wielded one of the mini-spatulas and pointed it threateningly at his friend, but the brightness of Inoo’s smile increased in wattage as he waved Mizuki over. She was now carrying a tray with three bowls of okonomiyaki batter and ingredients on it, and she refused to meet Yabu’s gaze.

It wasn’t like he was trying to catch her gaze anyway; he was trying his best to not look at her eyes and spontaneously burst into a wall of flames from embarrassment. From the corner of his eye, he saw Inoo gesture towards Mizuki and how she leaned in closer. The rebel strand of hair fell forward again, and Yabu had to hold on to the table leg so he wouldn’t reach forward and smooth it away from her face. He also saw how she smiled, nodded her head, and pulled out her notepad and pen and wrote something down, tearing the page from the pad and giving it to Hikaru afterwards. He thought he saw her smile at his direction, but he couldn’t be sure. A customer asked for another order, and she responded and turned to them, bowing before leaving their table.

“Here you go,” Hikaru said with a grin, sliding the piece of paper towards the spot on the table where Yabu has planted his elbow. Yabu hoped he didn’t look too eager as he grabbed it from the table to see what was written on it.

A set of numbers. A cellphone number.

An email address.

“She said she liked how you used her first name,” Inoo added. Yabu looked up and grinned, his eyes reduced to narrow happy slits of nothing.

“I’m so glad you’re my friends,” he said.

Who cared if he sounded close to tears?

He had Arihara Mizuki’s number and e-mail address.

 

 

After getting threatening reminders from Hikaru and Inoo (”She gave it to you for a reason other than you staring longingly at your phone screen, Kouta. For heaven’s sake, just _call her already._ ”), he finally called him after his third attempt and subsequent bundle of nerves.

“…Lovely weather, right?”

“…It’s night time Yabu-kun.”

“…perfect stargazing weather. I heard there’ll be a meteor shower.”

“Really? Tonight?”

“…I’m not really sure if I heard it in the news or I just made that up.”

A laugh “Why would you make that up?”

“Because… I’m nervous?”

“Why are you nervous?”

“I don’t talk much to girls… to anyone, really.”

Both their voices had dropped to a whisper.

“What made you decide to talk to me then?”

“Well, I gave you a head injury for starters. I think that was enough reason to start a conversation. Or offer you a medical insurance.”

A laugh. “Must you involve people in accidents before you become friends?”

He grinned. “We’re friends?”

He could hear the smile in her voice. “Sure we are.”

 

 

“What are you even studying? I meet Inoo-san now and then but I never see you around.”

“Ah, I’m in a completely different faculty. Sadly, I can’t even draw a straight line, even with a ruler, so I can’t ever be admitted in the college of fine arts.”

“Then what do you do instead?”

“Uh, I’m studying how to cut up people and sew them back together and try to fix things that have gone wrong with their body in between?”

“No way.”

“Yes way.”

“Wow. You’re a science man.”

His laugh was short, surprise pushing it out of his lungs. “You don’t have to sound so impressed, it’s no big deal.”

“But… you save lives! You’re like a super hero!”

This time he laughed longer, until she was laughing along with him. “I’m still studying, and it’s not romantic as you probably think. This is not like Code Blue—”

“But life is always romantic!”

He stopped short, smiling at the thought. “Care to elaborate?”

“There’s always a chance to be better than who you are yesterday. A chance to say sorry for the wrong things you’ve done. A chance to find love. Isn’t the possibility of having a second chance romantic in itself? And you can help giving people that chance!”

“Yeah,” he said softly, listening to her breathe on the other end of the receiver. “I could.”

 

  
“Oh,” he said, noticing the alarm clock. “It’s morning already.”

“Really?” she said in surprise. He heard the rustling sound of her sheets from her side of the receiver. “Oh. I didn’t notice.”

“You should sleep,” he said softly.

“But I don’t want to hang up on you.”

“Let’s hang up on the same time then. One, two, three.”

“…”

“…”

“You’re still there.”

You didn’t tell me to hang up by three.”

“Come on, you’ll be really tired later, I don’t want to be held responsible,” he said.

“You kind of already are.”

“I’ll buy you a coffee as an apology.”

“…so it’s like a date, then?”

“…I don’t know, do you _want_ to call it a date?”

“…only if you say so.”

“If it’s okay with you,” he said calmly, while a mini-him in his heart was jumping up and down and yelling _YES_ and fist-pumping the air.

 

 

“So you’re telling me,” Hikaru said slowly. “…that you haven’t told her how you feel about her? _Yet_?”

Yabu cringed and slowly nodded his head. Hikaru exhaled loudly and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Kei-chan, please tell our friend how much of a loser he is,” he said.

“It’s your turn today. And I’m busy,” Inoo replied, not even looking up from his T-square and drafting table. They were lounging around Inoo’s apartment, wanting a change of scenery from the university grounds.

 Yabu half-heartedly lobbed a throw pillow at Hikaru’s direction. “Whatever.”

Even his retort sounded like _his own lungs_ were giving up on how much of a loser he was. He had asked out Mizuki on a few coffee dates and he helped her out with a few of her psychology classes, while she readily quizzed him for his classes, puzzling over his complicated notes and messy handwriting. When they pass each other in university, though, all he can manage was a nervous smile and a weak “Hi.” In short, he was—in Inoo and Hikaru’s words—the biggest loser of the century.

“It’s like I’m watching a very frustrating romance drama. Like one of those very long Korean dramas where the characters obviously like each other but _all these circumstances_ get in the way and make me want to yell at the TV,” Hikaru complained.

“Don’t mind him, he just went through my collection of Park Shin Hye drama DVDs,” Inoo said, finally looking up to stretch his sore shoulder muscles and shooting them a tired smile.

“I feel like I’m in a drama right now too. Except those drama leads are more handsome and have more muscle definition,” Yabu said, staring at the book he was supposed to be reading but not seeing the words.

“Aw come on, you’re not that bad,” Inoo said. Yabu saw Hikaru raise an eyebrow at his comment.

“You’re just saying that because you’re my friend,” Yabu said.

“Yup. And because you’re treating me to dinner tonight,” Inoo replied, rolling up the blueprint he was working on and sliding it into a plastic tube.

“Who said I was paying?”

“I did.”

“…Fine.”

“I love you Yabu-chaaaaaan.”

“I love you too,” Yabu said with a laugh. He caught Hikaru’s expression—like someone made him kiss a cat.

“Something wrong?” Yabu asked. Hikaru gave a start, then slammed the sketchbook he had in his hands shut. He looked up to see the surprised looks on Yabu and Inoo’s faces.

“That’s good practice,” Hikaru said, giving them a reassuring smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes before fixing his gaze at Yabu. “Next time, say it to the right person.”

 

 

“What are you listening to?” a voice asked. Yabu opened a sleepy eye and found Mizuki standing over him, blocking out the rays of the afternoon sun. He was lying down by the grassy riverbank, a huge book spread open over his chest and earphones on. Patting the empty patch of grass beside him, he motioned for her to sit down. She carefully placed her sketchbook down and lay down next to him, quietly accepting the earpod he gave her. Inserting it into her ear, she waited for a few moments.

“…I don’t hear anything.”

“Shhh,” he said. “Listen.”

A bunch of boys playing baseball for fun at the empty field. A bicycle bell. The two of them breathing. A crow squawking somewhere up in the sky. The steady drum of their heartbeats. The rustle of the grass beneath their bodies as their hands between them shift, their pinky fingers half a millimeter apart, almost touching but not quite.

“It’s beautiful,” she said with a quiet smile. They turned their faces towards each other—if they inched forward just a little more, their noses could touch.

He smiled, then held up the end of his disconnected earphones. “It’s a good method of never having to have to talk to people unless necessary. When I just want to be alone with my thoughts, I listen to the sounds of the universe,” he said.

She smiled. “Thanks for letting me listen with you.”

His hand moves half a millimeter. Their smallest fingers barely touch.

It is enough.

 

 

It would be selfish of him if he wanted more.

 

 

“I was never good with drawing people,” she said to him on the phone that night. “I always preferred landscapes. Seascapes. Skyscapes. Still life. They were easier, much less complicated.”

He nods in understanding. “I study the human body, and until now I still don’t understand people as much as I would like. We learn that anything could happen. Some diseases still don’t have a cure. Some diseases just, with some stroke of luck, go away with enough medicine or an awesome enough miracle. I can’t talk to people easily, because they’re so much different outside, but the internal devices are basically the same; that throws me off. It feels… weird, knowing that we all breathe through the same lungs, even if they look different. We love with hearts that may look the same, but they’re different, really.”

“That’s the longest I’ve heard you talk.”

He blushed. “Sorry if I bored you out of your skull.”

She laughed. “You know that’s not medically possible, and no, I love it when you talk science to me.”

He gnawed at his bottom lip, willing himself not to say how much he loved her too. _That_ _’s not what she meant._

“You can practice on me if you want,” he said. The words came out in a rush, and he was afraid she didn’t hear; he didn’t think he was brave enough to say that again.

“You’re sure?” she asked. Tentative.

“You’re a great artist. How much bad could it get? I believe in you.”

“Thanks.”

“Always.”

 

 

“I can’t draw the face right,” she said, frowning over her sketchbook. The four of them were at the riverbank, and though Inoo and Hikaru were being quiet Yabu still felt hyperaware with the two of them there. Like someone invaded their secret garden, however public this place was.

He winced. She noticed and held up her hands in alarm. “Oh no, that came out wrong, I’m sorry,” she said.

“It’s fine,” he said, reigning in the hurt in his heart. He looked over to his friends. Inoo and Hikaru had initially tagged along as guardians, suspicious about how Yabu was getting along with Mizuki. When they reached the famed riverbank of Yabu’s stories, however, Inoo had immediately flopped down on the soft grass and mumbled about not getting enough sleep for the past seventy-two hours. The exhausted Inoo had fallen asleep right away, and Hikaru had pulled out his sketchbook with a look of intense concentration on his face as he drew away.

Yabu stretched his arms over his head and looked over to where Hikaru was drawing. He was so preoccupied that he didn’t even notice Yabu’s attention was now focused on what he’s drawing.

Yabu blinked.

He recognized the person Hikaru was drawing all to well.

“Yabu-kun?” Mizuki’s voice called him back to attention. Hikaru looked up and met Yabu’s gaze, his mouth dropping open in surprise. They stared at each other for a long moment before Yabu turned back to Mizuki with a smile. He could feel Hikaru’s eyes staring at the back of his head, but he resisted the urge to turn and ask questions.

Inoo was gently shaken awake by Mizuki, who was worrying about all of them catching a cold and had asked to pause their drawing lessons for the day. He rolled towards Hikaru, who was quietly stuffing his sketchbook into his messenger bag.

“I missed all the fun,” Inoo said with a sleepy groan, swatting at Hikaru’s knee like it was his responsibility to disturb him from the sleep he badly needed just so he could spy on everybody else. Hikaru nudged his hand away and ruffled Inoo’s hair.

“Your fault,” he said, his tone more concerned than condescending.

“Let me treat you guys to okonomiyaki, it’s the least I could do—” Mizuki said.

“Sorry, Arihara-chan, I have to go… stuff…” Hikaru said, vaguely waving at all three at them before turning abruptly and jogging towards the train station by himself. Inoo struggled to scramble quickly to his feet, looking at Hikaru’s retreating back in bewilderment.

“Aren’t we supposed to go home together?” he called out after him, but Hikaru just waved again and said “I’ll call you!” without even turning around. Inoo turned back towards Yabu and Mizuki, eyebrows drawn together.

“Did something happen while I was asleep?” Inoo asked. Mizuki shook her head. Inoo raised an eyebrow at Yabu for clarification. He was looking at Hikaru as the latter’s figure shrinked, getting swallowed by the distance and the rapidly approaching twilight.

“Maybe he realized something,” he said softly.

 

 

He was practicing soccer by himself on the riverbank when he saw her again.

After an hour of vainly attempting to look like a cool soccer player, he made his way over to where she was sitting, drawing in her sketchbook like the first time he met her.  
“Otsukare,” she greeted him without looking up. He palmed the back of his neck and dropped his bag to the ground, sitting down beside her.

“Same to you,” he said cautiously, not wanting to be a bother. The sketchbook was angled away from him, and he respectfully resisted the urge to try and peek.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t curious though.

“…Can I ask what you’re drawing?” he said. She smiled (was she blushing?) and closed the sketchbook, looking down and playing with the edges.

“It’s something I’m working on for that project I have with Yaotome-san and the rest,” she explained. He noticed with some satisfaction that she still calls Hikaru by his last name.

“Oh yeah, I saw what he was drawing for a bit,” Yabu said, remembering how flustered Hikaru had been when he caught Yabu peeking, a week ago at the same riverbank. “What’s the theme about?”

She smiled softly before she answered.

“A silhouette of love.”

 

 

“And?” Inoo asked.

“And nothing,” Yabu repeated. They were at the library; Hikaru was working on his exhibit piece and was holed up in his studio at home. He was busy and the deadline was near, and he hasn’t allowed the both of them to see the piece until it was done, so they were trying to get some work done without him at their usual library table.

Inoo placed his head in his hands. “What is _wrong_ with you?!” he huffed out in frustration. “You could have said something. _Anything_!”

“I didn’t want to ruin the moment!” Yabu said defensively.

“ _There was no freaking moment to ruin because you didn_ _’t even do anything!”_ Inoo said, his voice growing more shrill from exasperation by the minute. “This is the twenty-first freaking century! If you don’t _do_ something, someone else might come and swoop her away from right under your nose!”

“But—did you just say ‘freaking’?” Yabu said, gaping at Inoo.

“ _That_ _’s_ your takeaway?! I swear to all the forces of nature Yabu, if you weren’t my friend—” Inoo said, throwing his hands up and pushing away his laptop in disgust.

“Do you think this is _easy_?!” Yabu finally blurts out, chucking down the medical journal he was reading. Inoo stopped talking, breathing heavily from all the whispered yelling they had to do. The end of the semester was drawing near, and they would be disturbing a lot of students using the library.

He jabs a finger on the open page of the journal showing an anatomical model of the human heart. “This, how it’s supposed to work, how it pumps blood throughout my body and all the technical crap, _this_ I understand. But I don’t know how to talk to girls or tell them I think their hair is pretty or tell the girl I may possibly be in love with how I feel. I’m not like you or Hikaru, okay?” he said. His vision blurred, and he swiped angrily at his eyes before standing up and blindly stuffing books into his huge backpack.

“Wow, I try to make things right, and _everyone_ walks away from me,” Inoo said, stonily looking on as Yabu crumpled a handout under a huge book and hissed a curse under his breath. “First Hikaru, now you—”

“Hikaru is dealing with his own stuff right now, that’s not fair—” Yabu said, looking up to meet Inoo’s gaze. No matter how angry he felt at himself, he couldn’t help but stand up for Hikaru.

“And _this_ is fair? Not telling me what’s happening, blaming me for things I don’t know when I’m just trying to help—” Inoo said

“I’m not blaming you!”

“Well it looks that way to me!”

Yabu slammed down the last book on the table, aware that people are probably starting to stare. “You can’t _fix_ everything, Inoo! This isn’t a scale model that you could just glue back together! Things happen that we can’t control—”

“But that’s just it, Yabu! Everything is laying out itself nicely for you, you just have to follow the damn script! I’m not calling it easy, but you’re taking all of this shit too much for granted and _no one_ is happy with this!”

Yabu was too surprised to hear Inoo curse out loud, _in public_ that he gaped for about three seconds before the fight went out of him. He quickly zipped his bag shut, catching it on a piece of paper before it fully closed. Too tired with arguments, too tired with _everything_ , he left his bag open as he shouldered it and walked out of the library, trying not to meet anyone’s stares as he marched out and left Inoo alone on their usual table, looking alone and so, so tired.

 

 

“HIKARUUUUUUUUUUUUU! OPEN UUUUUUUUUUUUP! OPEN THE DOOOOOR! I’M DRUUUUUUUUNK!” Yabu sang out to the door of Hikaru’s apartment. There was a crashing sound from inside, and Yabu started knocking his head against the door. He’d done it five times before the door opened, making him almost lose whatever little balance he had left.

“What the actual hell, Yabu—” Hikaru said, staring at his friend. Yabu was a mess, and that was saying it nicely. His face was red and splotchy, his eyes bloodshot, and a combination of tears, snot, alcohol, and what suspiciously looked like vomit had dried up into a sticky, crusty stain down the front of his shirt. His backpack was still fortunately intact, but that was the cleanest part of him; apparently he had enough sense left to take care of his school stuff, but not enough to go home to his own apartment.

“What are you doing here?!” Hikaru asked.

“CAN I STAY OVER FOR TONIGHT?! I LEFT MY KEYS AT INOO’S PLACE AND I CAN’T GET THEM. I’LL BE YOUR SLAVE! I’LL DO EVERYTHING YOU WANT,” Yabu shouted at Hikaru’s eardrum.

“What? No!” Hikaru said, a look of panic creeping up his face. “I’m in the middle of painting!”

“I WON’T TELL INOO WHAT YOU’RE PAINTING! WE’RE FIGHTING ANYWAY!” Yabu screamed, then sniffed, starting to wail. Hikaru quickly pulled him inside before he could cause anymore disturbance to Hikaru’s neighbors, hoping really hard they were all sleeping off hangovers or drank enough sleeping pills. Yabu collapsed on Hikaru’s doormat and sobbed over the sneakers Hikaru had kicked off earlier when he got home.

“What went into your head and you went _drinking alone_? You know you’re a lightweight and we all agreed you won’t drink unless you’re with us,” Hikaru said, concern overpowering his irritation right now. “Is it Arihara-chan? Did you get dump—”

“INOO BROKE UP WITH ME! I T-THINK HE RESIGNED AS MY F-F-FRIEND,” Yabu blubbered.

“You can’t resign on friendship, you big drunk poophead,”Hikaru said exasperatedly. Yabu cried even harder.

“DON’T CALL ME POOPHEAD! INOO CALLED ME POOPHEAD TOO! OH MY GOD HIKARU, ARE YOU BREAKING UP WITH ME TOO???” Yabu said. Hikaru hit him on the head with the house slippers he was holding, trying to make Yabu take off his boots that had flecks of dried vomit on them.

“I can’t break up with you, we’re not even together! And I’m your friend forever, okay? _Now calm down,_ ” he said. Yabu covered his ears.

“Don’t shout,” he moaned out. “Headache.”

Hikaru rolled his eyes to the heavens to quietly ask the gods what he did in his past life to deserve this before hauling Yabu up his feet by the armpits, helping him to the living room couch.

 

Yabu woke up the next morning to the sounds and smells of Hikaru brewing coffee and making breakfast. He kept his eyes shut, dreading the confrontation and the questions that were bound to follow; he did barge into his friend’s apartment unannounced and uninvited, also being drunk and rowdy to boot. He groaned, remembering the scene he had caused: in the library before he walked away from Inoo, in the bar before he was kicked out, in Hikaru’s apartment before he passed out. Hikaru must have heard him, because a few minutes later he went to the living room bearing a breakfast tray. He also set down a glass of water and some medicine that Yabu dimly recognized as painkillers to help with his hangover-induced headache.

Yabu opened his eyes when he decided it was safe enough for Hikaru not to yell at him. He opened his eyes, peeking out from under the blanket Hikaru had draped over him when he fell asleep to see the latte, reading the newspaper and sipping at his own coffee.

“Good morning,” Yabu said tentatively.

“Drink some water. You can take a shower, I’ve laid out some clothes you can use,” Hikaru said.

Yabu winced at Hikaru’s terse voice. “That bad?”

Hikaru sipped from his coffee cup, peering at Yabu quietly from over the rim. Yabu stifled his groans and stretched his body experimentally, finding himself filthy and sore all over. He sat up, holding his head with one hand, and slowly sipped water and drank the medicine Hikaru had prepared. Without meeting Hikaru’s gaze, he dragged his feet towards the bathroom to wash away the physical remnants of last night’s epic embarrassment and went back out to the living room. He was clad in Hikaru’s sweatpants and a soft long-sleeved shirt, his face hidden underneath the towel he was using to rub his hair dry. Sitting down on the edge of the sofa across Hikaru, he kept his face covered as he waited for who would make the first move.

He heard Hikaru putting down his mug on the coffee table and he froze, his hands rubbing his hair dry stilling on the towel. He lowered the towel and draped it over his neck, looking at his hands as Hikaru cleared his throat.

“So,” Hikaru said, his tone carefully calm and neutral. “You saw?”

“W-what?” Yabu said, a bit confused; he was expecting Hikaru to ask about why he turned up on his doorstep and bawled like a baby.

Hikaru gestured behind him to the huge easel covered with a dust cloth. “…You know what I’m painting?”

“…Oh,” Yabu said, rubbing his neck with the towel, a whole different kind of embarrassed. “Yeah… I kinda saw. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Hikaru said, sighing. “I was thinking of changing it anyway.”

“What, no!” Yabu exclaimed. Hikaru raised an eyebrow at him and he sat back, mollified. “Sorry. But the exhibit’s in three days, that’d be such a waste!”

“It’s my fault anyway, it was a stupid idea to begin with—” Hikaru said.

Yabu stood up. “It’s not! The theme’s ‘silhouette of love’! How can your love be stupid?!” Yabu said.

“How’d you know the theme—”

“I asked Mizuki-chan, and believe me, I’d give anything if she paints anything remotely like me,” Yabu said. He sat down again, meeting Hikaru’s eyes for the first time this morning. “But if you change your painting you’ll just be lying to yourself, Hikaru.”

Hikaru crossed his arms over his chest, frowning. “I hate it when you sound smart and you’re actually right.”

Yabu laughed. “It tends to happen.”

Hikaru bit his lip. “…But I still don’t know,” he said. “It’s so… I don’t know, a lot of people would see. Wouldn’t that make it awkward for the other person?”

They were quiet for a few moments before Hikaru sighed in frustration, standing up and walking towards the covered easel.

“What are you doing?” Yabu asked in alarm.

“Getting started on a new painting,” Hikaru said, roughly ripping the dust cloth off.

“No, you’re not doing that!” Yabu stood up and grabbed Hikaru’s arm, letting the cloth fall between them.

“Let it go, Yabu!”

“No!” Yabu shouted, letting Hikaru shake away his arm and holding on to his friend’s shoulders, forcing him to look at him. “Haven’t you learned your lesson from me? I’m miserable because I can’t tell my feelings to the girl I like, and now you have your chance you’re giving up without even trying?”

“It’s not as easy as you think it is!” Hikaru said.

“You’re in love with your best friend! What’s wrong with that?” Yabu said loudly.

“IN CASE YOU HAVEN’T NOTICED, WE’RE TALKING ABOUT INOO HERE!” Hikaru shouted back. Both of them were breathing heavily, the easel standing before them as they argued. Hikaru sighed and broke away from the eye contact, running his hands through his hair. Yabu went around the easel and stood quietly in front of the almost-done painting.

It was beautiful, as expected of Hikaru. The bottom of the painting showed the foundations of a beautiful building, pillars and marble and mortar as it rose to form the outline of a person building itself up, holding a brick that it was laying down to form itself.

The torso clad in his favorite crisp collared shirt, sweater and hoodie, the graceful hands with the long pianist fingers and the amused half-smile on his face was unmistakably Inoo. 

“I tried my best,” Hikaru said beside him; Yabu hadn’t even noticed him move, engrossed in the painting in front of him as it is.

“I’m sure he’ll like it,” Yabu said softly.

“You think?” Hikaru said, a hint of hope coloring his voice. Yabu turned to meet his gaze.

“You should trust your feelings more,” he replied simply. Hikaru exhaled and nodded, picking up the dust cloth and covering the easel before turning back to Yabu, a businesslike glint in his eye that made Yabu nervous.

“So,” Hikaru said, his tone carefully calm and neutral. “Am I ever going to know why you got yourself very stupidly drunk? You do have that eternal slave promise. Drunk promises still count,” Hikaru said, in reply to Yabu’s answering groan.

 

By the way Inoo pointedly continued his homework, Yabu could tell that Inoo was still upset with him. He continued to solve equations for building dimensions and ignored both Yabu’s existence and the envelope he had placed in front of his notebook. Yabu sighed, picking up the envelope and shoving it over the page Inoo was writing on.

“Ignore me all you want, but please take this,” Yabu said, trying very hard not to sound like a whiny child.

“And why should I do that?” Inoo replied, eyes still not meeting Yabu’s.

Yabu sighed again. “Because it’s tickets to the opening of Hikaru’s art exhibit and he really wants you to come?”

“Then why didn’t he give it himself?” he said, looking up and glaring at Yabu.

Yabu held up his hands. “Don’t shoot the messenger! He’s very busy with the preparations for the exhibit—”

“But he had time to give them to you?” Inoo asked quietly, his pencil frozen over the page.

“I just happened to be there, and it seemed convenient…” Yabu said, looking at Inoo’s stormy expression before running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Look, I got drunk and crashed in his apartment, okay? I figured since I was being a huge idiot of a friend to you that I wasn’t welcome to go to your place and get my keys.”

There was a beat before Inoo turned to his bag and plucked out Yabu’s keys from the pocket.

“No, I’m sorry too. I was being a huge idiot, too. It was wrong of me to project all my frustrations about love on you,” Inoo said, looking at Yabu, his hand holding up his keys and his mouth quirked into a sheepish, tentative smile.   Yabu reached out his hand and took his keys from Inoo, returning his smile. They looked at each other then burst out laughing, shushed by the librarian a few moments later.

“We’re so cheesy,” Yabu said, giggling after he had bowed in apology at the librarian’s direction.

“We’re cheesy idiots,” Inoo agreed, picking up the envelope and looking at the back where his name was written in Hikaru’s careful handwriting.

“Ah, Hikaru said you shouldn’t read that until after you see his exhibit piece. He said you’ll understand,” Yabu said. Inoo raised an eyebrow but nodded in understanding, slipping the envelope into his planner. Yabu saw the date of the exhibit encircled in red and he suppressed a smile, pulling out his regular chair and settling in to begin studying.

“Oh, before I forget,” Inoo said, digging under the pile of papers in front of him before extracting an envelope similar to one Yabu gave Inoo earlier. “Arihara-chan came by earlier and asked me to give these to you.”

Yabu took the envelope, perplexed. “Tickets? I could have gotten some from Hikaru, she shouldn’t have bothered.”

“Maybe she wanted you to see her exhibit piece,” Inoo said, grinning slyly at Yabu. Yabu swatted at Inoo’s hand.

“Hey, don’t get my hopes up,” he said.

Inoo held his hands up, eyes wide and the picture of complete innocence. “I didn’t say anything!”

“Yeah, whatever,” Yabu said, smiling as he carefully stowed the envelope away.

 

 

“I’m so nervous,” Yabu whispered to Inoo as they stood in line, waiting for their tickets to be checked at the entrance of the gallery. He fidgeted, hands playing with the lapels of his suit jacket; since it was the opening night of the exhibit, there were only a limited number of people who were invited to the event. The event required formal evening wear, which is why Yabu was decked out in an expensive suit that Inoo insisted was a good investment.

Inoo elbowed at Yabu to stop him from fidgeting and wrinkling his clothes as he smiled at the girl attending to the tickets at the entrance. The girl smiled back and blushed, bidding them to enjoy the night as they entered the lobby of the building.

“Stop fidgeting, you look fine,” Inoo said, slapping away Yabu’s hands as they threatened to worry the knots off the bow tie on his neck. “Unless you’re an exhibit piece, no one would be looking much at you tonight.”

Yabu didn’t answer, now turning over the envelope that he retrieved from his jacket. He opened it to get his ticket for the exhibit, but he has yet to read the letter inside the envelope. Inoo saw what he was holding and sighed, pulling out his own envelope and running a finger over the dents in the paper that Hikaru made when he wrote down Inoo’s name on it.

“Calm down, Kouchan,” Inoo said. Yabu was too tense to comment on the hitch on his friend’s voice or the almost invisible shaking of his hands that at first he didn’t connect the vibrating on his pocket to the phone that he had set on silent. He looked down at his pocket blankly before making the connection and hurrying to read the text he just received.

It was Mizuki.

_Please, don_ _’t read the letter until after you see my exhibit piece. You’ll understand once you read it._

Trying to shake off the nerves and the emotion pressing down on his lungs and heart (Dread? Hope? ‘I wanna puke why am I here?’), he quickly typed out a reply.

 

_I_ _’m so proud of you. Whatever anyone else would say, I think your work will be my favorite in this exhibit (don’t tell Hikaru). Good job and congratulations! You deserve all the praise in the world. Let me be one of the people to tell you that._

A few moments later, his phone vibrates again. It’s a short message, with only two emojis as content.

A smiling face.

And a heart.

 

Yabu was aware that Inoo was smiling over his shoulder at his phone, but before he could turn around to ask what Inoo thought it probably meant, they were ushered into the gallery. The room was in total darkness, save for the bright pool of light in the middle of the room, a spotlight illuminating a microphone stand from a few decades past. They watched as the girl from the entrance stepped forward and thanked everyone for coming to the event. Then she bowed, giving way to Hikaru and Mizuki. They were dressed in white, beautiful and breathtaking surrounded by all the darkness, their arms almost touching. They bowed and Hikaru searched the crowd, smiling when he saw Yabu and Inoo and discreetly nudging Mizuki, inclining his head to their general direction. He raised a wireless microphone and took a deep breath, speaking first.

“We like to think of life as a blank canvas, filled in by memories of firsts and lasts, of happiness and sadness and everything in between. But even as cliche as this may sound, we always said that love brings color into our world, the thing that brings color into our blank canvas. Whatever kind of love—for family, friends, or that sometimes elusive and always sought-after special person of fate and destiny—we look towards love as the inspiration, the break in the monotony of the routine of every day, the thing that makes existence turn into life.”

Mizuki stepped forward, lovely in the glow of the spotlight as she held her microphone in her hands, not a hint of her nervousness to be seen. “The twelve of us have gathered to try and show you what love has brought into our lives. The theme ‘Silhouette of Love’ is an important journey for each of us, discovering what love personally meant for every individual and figuring out what to do for this exhibit. Each of us had our own doubts and questions in the whole process, but seeing everyone here tonight hit us with the immense realization that we have done our best to tell you our stories through our works. We are greatly honored to be able to share with you our stories, our canvases, our life, and our love.”

Yabu and Inoo clapped along with the rest of the crowd as both Mizuki and Hikaru bowed. The spotlight faded out to be replaced by a dozen smaller lights arranged in a wide circle, illuminating the exhibit pieces. Hikaru and Mizuki told them that their exhibit pieces would be right next to each other, so they slowly traveled around to look for them. They passed a painting of two guys with gold and silver hair entitled _Sun and Moon_ (in reference, probably, to the Miss Saigon song) before Yabu stopped in front of Hikaru’s painting. He sighed in relief, seeing that Hikaru hadn’t changed his painting at the last moment, only adding a few finishing touches to the beautiful work of art. He heard Inoo stop behind him, the soft intake of breath, and the sound of rustling paper as Inoo opened the letter Hikaru gave him. He quietly gave Inoo some space as he went to look at Mizuki’s painting next. The first thing he noticed was the title card under the painting. It was called _A Lucky Shot,_ and under it were the words ( _At Life. At Love.),_ enclosed in the parenthesis like a tentative question. He stared at Mizuki’s name before  raising his eyes to look at the painting.

The next thing he noticed was that somehow, Mizuki’s painting looked like a soccer ball. He blink and stared, making sure that his eyes (or his heart jackrabbiting in his chest) weren’t playing tricks on him.

 

And stared.

 

And stared some more.

 

The canvas was round, the expanse of white broken by pentagon shapes depicting various scenes.

The grass from the riverbank, bent by a gentle breeze, a few blades torn up and suspended in the air.

A phone held to the ear of a girl, a nearby clock showing it was three in the morning.

A stylized drawing of an anatomical model of the human heart.

Disconnected earphones with music notes looking like leaves coming out from the tiny speakers.

Okonomiyaki being flipped over by thin hands.

A corner of eyes crinkled at something funny, viewed from a distance behind a library book.

A dripping ice pack blurring a smudged pencil sketch of the sunset.

And the pentagon at the center of everything, was him. His silhouette, that day on the riverbank when they first met, hugging a soccer ball to his chest. But instead of the ice pack, he was holding an envelope.

The envelope Mizuki had given him.

 

It took him five seconds before he was hurrying to open the envelope, muttering a quick apology at the person he had bumped into in his haste to read what was inside.

 

_Meet me in the balcony of the gallery_ _’s east wing._

He burst through the glass double doors five minutes later, eventually finding his way despite the largely unhelpful layout map of the gallery (Inoo could probably do a better layout of this place while he’s asleep). Mizuki turned around in alarm at the sudden sound, and blushed a bright red under the moonlight when she saw who it was.

“Yabu-kun…” she said, trailing off as he held up a hand, bending over to catch his breath. It took him a minute before he could straighten up, but his heart was still racing and all he could manage saying was a scared and confused “What—?”

“…You saw?” Mizuki asked. Yabu nodded his head, not sure if he could answer coherently with words.

Mizuki bit her lip, looking down at the fabric of her dress that she had bundled into her fists. “…So?”

“I—” Yabu said, his voice coming out a wheezy strangled mess. He cleared his throat and took a step forward, towards her.

“What are you—”

Yabu held up both his hands, palms open. “Let me say this first,” he said.

Her eyes shining in the moonlight, Mizuki nodded. Yabu took one step forward.

“I’m sorry for hitting you on the head,” Yabu said.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, letting the wind carry her voice back to him.

One step forward.

“I’m sorry for being a huge idiot,” he said.

“No you’re not—”

One more step.

“I’m sorry for not saying this earlier.”

Moonlight silence. One more step.

“I’m sorry for all the times I was silent over the phone. I’m sorry for all the times I stopped talking mid-sentence. I’m sorry for always being afraid to say what I’ve always wanted to say.”

One step. One deep breath.

“Because all the times I’ve forced myself to stop talking were all the times I wanted to say that _I love you_.”

He reached forward, took her frozen hands, and let the folds of her dress fall in wrinkled waves, raising her chin to meet his gaze with his free hand.

“Thank you for the painting,” he said. She closed her eyes, a tear tracking its way down her cheek. He blotted it away with the pad of his thumb and let his hand find its way back to hers. He grasped her arms gently, firmly, two pairs of fingers and palms and nails and bone and warm, moonlit skin.

“Hey,” he said softly. She smiled and shook her head, a short bubble of laughter bubbling from her lips.

“Just… thank you for saying it to me,” she said. He grinned, pulling her close and winding his arms around her slight frame. They stood in the balcony bathed by moonlight, her cheek pressed to his chest, her ear right next to his heart. She listened to his heartbeat as he made her a promise.

“I’ll say it however many times you want.”

 

 

“There you are,” said Hikaru as he sat down, inching his chair closer to Inoo. Mizuki smiled as she sat down on the chair Yabu pulled out for her.

“Hi Inoo-kun,” she said. Inoo smiled and gave her a little wave from across the table, pushing away Hikaru’s hair from his forehead in the process. Mizuki then turned to Yabu and leaned her head on his shoulder.

“How was the test, Kouchan?” she asked.

“He can’t hear you,” Inoo said, gesturing to Yabu’s earphones. Yabu grinned and turned his head to kiss the top of her head.

“I think I got a high grade. Thanks for reviewing it with me,” he said, smiling into her hair.

“Hey, you were ignoring me for the past half hour!” Inoo complained, making everyone in the table laugh. Mizuki pulled at the other end of Yabu’s earphones from his pocket to show it to Inoo and Hikaru, the audio jack disconnected.

“Arihara-chan’s amazing! How’d you know that?” Hikaru said. Mizuki sat up and shared a look with Yabu, smiling before turning to Inoo and Hikaru, shrugging as Yabu quietly laced his fingers with hers.

“Lucky shot?” she said, grinning.


End file.
